


The Best Kind of Competition

by ladyofdragons



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A certain lucky sniper is at a loss for coherent thought thanks to the attentions of two white swordmechs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Kind of Competition

**Author's Note:**

> Short, PWP porn, no beta; another something I wrote on a whim while on vacation last summer. This was for a kink meme at the Re/Alignment RP though I think I missed the mark on the prompt. I guess that means I'm de-anoning but HAHA I'm pretty sure everyone knew it was me. Also my first time ever writing Percy and I think it shows...

He wasn't sure how he got into this situation. Oh, he certainly could recall the events, list them chronologically with all the circumstances and potential motivations that led this way. But if someone had asked him to predict this outcome, regardless of the variables involved, he'd still have been hard pressed to do so.

In truth Perceptor was having trouble with the belief, not the logic of it. Despite the irrefutable information streaming over his sensornet generated by a myriad of sensations spread throughout his whole nether region, the scientist could barely believe this was happening to _him_. The lithe white frames of the two swordmechs, EM fields flush with eroticism and their focus solely on him and his pleasure, was beyond any of Perceptor's expectations. But laying there sprawled on the berth while at their mercy? No, he certainly wasn't going to complain. 

Sensation tripped over his net as charge rose and thought became more and more difficult. That was until he felt the sensations over his spike cease, both sets of hands going still. He couldn't hold back the soft whimper at the sudden lack of attention, cool air ghosting over the unattended sensor nodes for longer than he'd like.

Perceptor paused for a few ticks, trying to process this new change, hearing voices. Were they...honestly arguing over technique? Apparently so. The degree to which Drift and Wing took competition had stopped surprising Perceptor some time ago, but right now he rather regretted their choice of venue. They however, obviously had no regrets, as the arousal in their EM fields only seemed to expand with each playfully bantered exchange, their occasional demonstrative movements making Perceptor twitch and gasp. 

It was...torture to say the least. Need was building now instead of charge, his pelvic frame bucking slightly, inviting more contact. Just as he was going to suggest an alternative approach--a tactical compromise more than anything else, just to inspire some action--the two seemed to make up their minds and turned the brunt of that arousal and new found conviction upon him.

The scientist-turned-sniper quickly lost hold on all notion of time and location, the sudden storm of sensation an assault upon his sensornet, demanding all of his concentration. He tipped his helm up, still trying to assess the situation, logic centers demanding an explanation regardless. He's greeted with the vision of his own spike, gray and teal, disappearing into the warm wetness of Wing's mouth. The jet's face was expressive even in profile, optics half shuttered in concentration and the pleasure of giving. Each upstroke of Wing's helm revealed the glowing blue optics of Drift beyond him, just visible over the cleft of his own dark pelvic span. The swordmech caught and held Perceptor's gaze as his mouth and glossa played over all the sensitive nodes of the scientist's valve.

He could barely keep his cogitative senses focused, but Perceptor wanted to see, feel and catalog each technique, letting him fully grasp the richness of the experience and appreciate the distinctiveness of each mech. Their styles bore obviously different signatures, Drift's forceful passion a complementing contrast to the plush lasciviousness that Wing brought to his pleasure making.

Perceptor's not sure how they're doing it, but logistics be damned for now, because the combined effort is producing far more benefit than any of his suggestions would have. 

His venting was ragged and fast now. Wing flicked him a brief look full of satisfaction during a particularly avid flourish of his glossa and the scientist's helm fell back to the berth with a groan and a soft thud. His silver thighs quivered under Drift's hands, charge building almost too fast. Perceptor wished he could prolong this, but the joined efforts of the two mechs was more than he could resist. 

His whole frame tensed just before the overload took him, crashing through his half-sparked restraint. The two swordmechs rode it out with ease and more than a little gratification; Perceptor lost amidst the sensation, even the echoes of his ragged cry seemed distant.

He sagged against the berth, wrung out, and through the fuzzy haze of satisfaction Perceptor could hear them speaking again.

"I'll happily concede _a draw,_ " Wing stated nonchalantly, but with a lingering edge of playfulness as he dragged a thumb over his bottom lip, tasting the transfluid on it. 

Drift's mouth quirked as he leaned in towards Wing, licking lubricant from his own lips. "Fine then, a draw. _For now._ " Then he took Wing's mouth in a deep kiss, sharing their experience as lubricant and transfluid mingled between them. 

Perceptor drew several deep ventilations before he could adequately form words. "A rematch later might be advisable." 

A beat.

"...why wait?"


End file.
